


Leaves in the River

by Nanosilver



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Injury, F/M, Founding of Konoha, Friends to Lovers, Politics, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanosilver/pseuds/Nanosilver
Summary: Hashirama never lost sight of her dream, even if Madara was temporarily unconvinced. Neither would've thought Izuna's loyalty to his brother to be the key to its completion.





	Leaves in the River

oOoOoOo

 

For months it poured.

The rain was sheer endless, falling from the skies in limitless sheets of icy needles striking through any amount of clothing, soaking the fabrics until there was nothing but wet, cold fibers clinging to the skin with every move through the underbrush.

Soon the landscape was an endless field of thick, ankle-deep mud, and even the branches of the ancient trees had turned slippery from the masses of rainfall upon the heavy canopy of the land’s seemingly neverending forests. Roots were laid bare after centuries in the dark, sending giants of the forest toppling without their extensive systems of anchors to hold them fast.

Rarely had the warring states of the forested regions seen such downpour, even in this time of the year often referred to as the rainy season. Small creeks had turned to currents, digging deep, twisted trenches into the labyrinth of roots, old animal dens and hollowed-out tree trunks, carrying the debris of centuries far and wide.

Although the Shinobi of the region had learned in their own ways to deal with the scorching, humid summer heat that had earned it the nickname of Land of Fire – Hi no Kuni, the largest of the regional states, home of the age-old Uchiha and the Senju -, the rain was a blessing in disguise for all those who had bothered to diversify their skill set beyond the generous application of fire to every problem.

When it rained, the Uchiha generally retreated. Fire was their expertise; the undisputed masters of their craft, the fiery hell they were capable of unleashing on the field was a fact of life known to the mercenary clans of the region with great respect and little love. The scars of their battles marred the landscape of the region, forming reminders of great battles fought in the past. If it weren’t for the rain each season, perhaps the whole forest would by now have turned to ash, fire smoldering on for days after the fact.

But when it rained like this, with nary a moment of reprieve from the constant, endless downpour, the Uchiha saw their arsenal severely weakened. Normally they retreated, seeking to fight a better battle another day, when the wood was less moist and the air less humid.

And yet, lately, they didn’t. Whether the seemingly unending nature of the weather had made them desperate, or something else drove them into battles so severely stacked against them, they fought with a ferocity usually seen only close to a victory.

Or, Hashirama mused, seen often in an animal backed into a corner. And somehow that seemed like far from a good thing.

Five days had passed since she had left their clan’s settlement with a squad of clansmen to face their greatest rival in the field. All of them were Suiton specialists who thrived in this godforsaken weather, and although her brother hadn’t been among them, instead busy guiding an important mission to the heartland of the enemy state, she didn’t have even an iota of doubt about the skills of these men.

Despite that, despite all the advantages they boasted at the moment, Hashirama found that her clan could just barely eke out a victory at the best of times. Even now, _even_ in her presence.

They’d been a diversion, hoping to draw out the stronger members of the clan into battle so their main objective could pass through with less resistance. She would have expected to be met with Madara in the field, and yet, at this of all times, he hadn’t shown up.

It wasn’t like him to shun battle, which was a worrying thought, because that meant that either something was keeping him, or he was otherwise occupied entirely. She also knew that she couldn’t make such thoughts the priority of her remaining energy for now- if all had gone well Tobirama should have returned already a few hours ago, which held far more importance than the absence of her nemesis on the field. She could only hope that Madara hadn’t unexpectantly gone toe to toe with her brother instead.

It had been an exhausting five days by all measures worthy of mention by the time she dragged herself to the door of her quaint home, situated at the edge of their hidden settlement. The Senju didn’t live like the Uchiha; their people dwelled in scattered buildings resembling a village more than a compound, while the fire-breathers of the west boasted a massive base of stone sitting atop its layered hill. They valued their majesty, the Senju could do without such things.

Five days of fighting a bunch of relentless Uchiha was an impressive reminder - even Hashirama had a limit which she could easily find herself pushing dangerously close to, even without facing the head of the Uchiha in battle. He was the strongest of them by far, but pit her against three or four of their generals and even she found herself breaking a sweat, particularly when it was her alone. The Uchiha hadn’t reached such a reputation by being haughty. (Although they certainly were.)

The rain had washed off most of the blood sticking to the light plates of her armor, leaving only the most stubborn stains on the fabrics which were sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She was drenched, head to toe, every inch of her exposed to streams upon streams of rain over the course of the week. As she bunched up her hair in her icy hands and began to wring it out over the dry floor of the porch, she could only come to the conclusion that there was indeed too much of a good thing.

As she began to step inside she called out, “Tobirama,” I’m home.” She yelled part out of habit, part to ensure he had successfully returned home to her - although with far less energy than she could usually muster for her dear brother. Anxiety gripped her briefly between moments, the thought of him _not_ having returned sitting uncomfortably in her mind.

The response came after a seemingly endless moment of silence; it was barely a grunt, more of a nod to obligation than excitement. But it was a sign of life, a confirmation that he had made it back, and that was all she needed to breathe a little more easily, shoulders falling as if free from a weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying.

The armor slipped off her shoulder and hit the ground with a resounding clank, echoing briefly through the small building. Drenched shirt and pants soon followed until she was left only in her underwear, bare feet leaving wet stains on the ground. She’d rather leave the fabrics soaked and caked in mud at the entrance instead of stomping through half of the building with it.

It was only halfway on the path to her room that the silence was beginning to feel strange; even on a bad day, Tobirama would normally at the very least quickly overload her with details of his campaign, no matter whether it had failed or succeeded.

The stinging iron scent of blood hung in the air like a thick blanket the moment she passed his door; a sour note of battle that was all too familiar to her, it had followed her all her life since she’d been old enough to fight. If the scent wasn’t enough the dark, slippery stains on the ground, half-dried and smudged, certainly were.

Well. At least he was awake.

She threw on a dark-green Yukata before hurrying into his room to not tend to whatever wounds he had sustained entirely naked, then found herself nearly stumbling over the armor haphazardly discarded somewhere between his desk and the door. Scattered across the floor were towels soaked with dark blood, leaving a disorderly trail through his room that ended with her brother leaning against the wall on the other side barely holding himself upright. It seemed he had walked this path a few times by now, tending to tasks in this room that only he could make sense of while freely bleeding on the floor.

 Tobirama had the courtesy to lift his head and glance at her with his crimson eyes, looking scarcely awake as he did. 

Despite the grisly sight, the first thing that came to mind as she saw him was a flash of grim annoyance and scathing judgment. ‘ _You fucking idiot’_.

“You know we have other healers, right?” she scolded as she nonetheless came to kneel by his side, peeling away the bone-deep exhaustion to find another source of energy somewhere, somehow. Heavens know what kind of excuse he had found this time to avoid taking care of himself, but she was just about done with that tendency of his.

 His hands were pressing against his abdomen and thigh and when pried away revealed a ghastly gash underneath the torn fabrics. It had to have gone all the way through his armor from the looks of it, driving the sharp, rigged edges into the flesh for further discomfort. Still, for it to have gotten this bad, he probably had run around with this injury for a while.

After cleaning her hands as much as she could and covering her skin in antiseptic balm she began to cut away the ruined shirt and pants, cursing to herself all the while. He better have a reason for this kind of idiocy.

“What happened?” she inquired grimly. With how low her chakra reserves were she wouldn’t be able to get this all healed, she’d have to fix up some of the deep tissue and close the wound the old-fashioned way, at least until tomorrow.

It took him a moment to get a hold of himself, watching her work away at the ripped attire; eventually he began to take a breath, preparing himself to relay his story to her. “Tsugiharu is dead,” he finally asserted, confirming the success of his mission to her, “and his court has fallen into chaos.”

“As expected,” she muttered.

Tsugiharu Koyanagi, Daimyō of the Land of Boar, had begun to strive for the fertile lands beyond the border of his own realm and sought to establish himself as the rightful owner of its neighbor’s main food-producing region. For this endeavor he had employed the Uchiha and a host of smaller clans to support the efforts of his own soldiers, prompting his foe, the Daimyō Hokusai Ishido, to seek out the Senju and their services. It was an ages old process that every Shinobi clan was familiar with since its inception.

The death of Tsugiharu was far from a random act of revenge on behalf of their employers, but rather a calculated risk the Senju had decided on in the face of the worsening severity of the conflict; Tsugiharu’s likely successor was his nephew, who saw little purpose in this war and would likely bring a swift end to it once his power was established.

Once she had laid the wound bare and could take in the entire extent of it she could feel her heart sink just a little bit. It wasn’t an even cut, meaning she’d have to do more than just clean it up and stitch it shut. A bowl with fresh water and a clean towel were quickly procured, allowing her to begin to meticulously wash dirt, debris and dried blood from the wound.

“How did this happen, then?” she inquired further. Her brother didn’t complain even once, just barely indicating he was in pain at all, but she knew that he was just hiding it for the most part. “Did you fight Madara?”

Could it be? Had it happened? Having her brother run into Madara without her help was perhaps the worst scenario she could imagine, the current outcome was almost mild compared to what it _could_ have caused. But then, she hadn’t yet seen the rest of his squad. Hopefully they’d been smarter than her brother.

“No,” he groaned, almost as if annoyed. “He wasn’t there.”

“Izuna?” she continued, furrowing her brow. If Madara hadn’t been there…

“Neither.”

Well that was just grand.

Once she was done with the cleaning Hashirama pressed her hands tightly on Tobirama’s wound until a barely audible hiss passed his lips, teeth clenched. Her chakra began to seep deep into the torn tissue, swiftly working to mend the rift the wound had made in his flesh. She’d at least be able to heal the most damaged part before her chakra would finally run out.

“I fought Hikaku,” he sighed. “Early on and again after the accomplishment of the objective. He retreated because he was outnumbered, but I couldn’t risk letting the men know I was injured before Tsugiharu’s death.”

Yes, that was just like him, to ignore his own well-being in favor of the mission. Hikaku was exceptionally strong and she wished he had joined the group of clansmen rushing to fight her instead, but it was naïve to hope the Uchiha would leave their client wholly unguarded. A part of her would like to slap Tobirama across the face for needlessly risking his life, but she reckoned he was too out of it to really feel it anyway. “So you just kept going?”

“Obviously.” His tone was dry and flat, but that was par for the course for Tobirama. She squinted at him but refrained from saying anything about it, knowing fully well that there wasn’t really a point to arguing with him.

“And then you came back and casually ignored signing up for the infirmary,” she concluded brashly, voice betraying her disapproval of the way he’d handled things with only the slightest hint of restraint. He was her younger brother and even though he liked to pretend he was the more reasonable one, Tobirama kept making stupid decisions like this, preferring to wait for his sister at home rather than just letting the others heal him. All because he did not like it when others did it.

“I didn’t realize how bad it was until it was too late,” he shot back, audibly defensive in the face of being criticized for his decisions. “It seemed safer to wait.”

Yeah, right.

Hashirama just about spent the absolute last drop of her chakra reserves before allowing herself to stop, taking a deep breath to steady herself before continuing with the treatment.  

“I take it you didn’t fight Madara either,” he muttered after a while, having closed his eyes in the meantime. She hoped that he wasn’t going to pass out, but as it was he wasn’t in danger of dying, so she could hardly begrudge him the desire to sleep. It was just bothersome that her own rest would have to wait a while longer yet.

“No,” she replied curtly, the dark thoughts around the topic returned to her in waves, lapping against her mind. If Madara had fought neither her nor Tobirama, then he was indeed staying away from battle. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and if Izuna wasn’t around either… “Strange, don’t you think?”

“I’d call it comforting,” Tobirama replied bluntly. “As would most of our men, I’d wager.”

The criticism wasn’t subtle, and Hashirama emotionally recoiled just a little as it struck. The topic of Madara was one that had put them at odds time and time again in the past. She didn’t particularly feel like letting it get to her this time, but the potential was there, simmering beneath her skin.

“Even you should want to know why he’s not around,” she argued, ignoring the annoyed groan she earned in response.

While the wound was clean and relatively free of debris, she’d have to clean up the uneven edges of the cut before stitching it. Sutures were something she rarely made use of, generally preferring to close wounds wholly in one go, but the situation didn’t allow for it this time.

“They’ve been weird in general lately,” Hashirama mused aloud, voice meandering as she fetched the needle from her cabinet and disinfected it.

“True, even they are not this idiotic usually.”

She dropped back to this side. “You’re being awfully mouthy for someone who nearly passed out on the floor.”

He seemed to have gotten the message as he didn’t dare to bite back, instead glancing somewhere to the side as she began to close his wound. At least he understood what kind of position he had maneuvered himself into here, and how little room it gave him to argue.

Still, he wasn’t exactly _wrong_. The Uchiha were acting in a rather… disordered fashion, as if leaderless at the moment, which didn’t bode well either. Madara usually had a fairly good grip on the clan, organizing them in a fashion that could at least be called somewhat strategic, even though she suspected it had to be like herding cats at the best of times. At least if what she knew about that clan was true.

Madara probably would’ve realized that her attack was a diversion. The fact that this seemed to have gone past them so easily…

Silence slowly crept into the room, establishing itself firmly as she worked and remained strong as she got up and began to remove all the ruined clothes and fabrics from the room, tossing them on a pile in the hall. His armor was a case for the smith considering the chest plate had sustained most of the damage, perhaps he’d be able to fix up that cut. Tobirama had somehow wiggled himself into a Yukata and curled up on the Futon by the time she came back, looking just about ready to fall asleep.

Still, she sank to her knees beside him and reached for his forehead to check his temperature, just to be sure that he wasn’t abnormally warm or cold.

“I’ll heal it some more tomorrow,” she spoke gently, “try to rest.”

“As if you need to tell me,” he groaned in response. Sometimes she felt Tobirama had made it his obligation to repel any attempts at sisterly affection she threw his way even when he wasn’t actually bothered just out of principle, but she had made it a habit to ignore him and just do her thing regardless in return.

As her brother slowly fell asleep, a memory burned between her thoughts like a bonfire, seeking to overshadow all in its vicinity, until it remained all she could think of. She worried her bottom lip, having to fight the urge to bite it bloody and raw.

Many years ago, she once hadn’t seen Madara in a while.

 

oOoOoOo

 

The cold water of the river passed her feet, tickling her toes and cooling her skin in the gentle summer breeze. Days like these were too nice to go out there and kill others, Hashirama was certain of that much. She hoped the conflicts would be held up for a little longer yet, at least until the end of the month, but the way politics were turning, there was little hope of much more reprieve.

And either way, her clan had to fight to live and live to fight, and it never really ended that way, the wheel turning and turning the same way for years and years. If only she could change it. If only she could, _if only_ …

Itama…

The memory came unbidden, the image of the gentle, passive face of her little brother who had so violently met his end stirred up painful thoughts she had buried away under promises to herself and grand ideas; the promise that she’d protect her last living brother and the idea that connected her and Madara through this clearing, this secret meeting place of theirs.

Speaking of…

Madara hadn’t shown his ugly face in a while. A whole month, in fact, and it was growing worrisome, to say the least. A part of her had begun to wonder if the world out there had claimed his life, too; if he had tried to protect his own brother and died in the process, if he had met his grisly end just like Itama not too long ago. The thought was oddly terrifying, to think that Madara of all people could fall victim to the curse that haunted their lives. He seemed too strong to just fade away like that, but at the end of the day they were children, just shadows of their potential, and if fate had decided to tear them from existence before reaching their full strength, then there was little either of them could do to stop it.

Madara was different from the rest. He understood her in a way nobody else did, understood her desire to end this pointless suffering, her belief that these battles were cruel and needless, that something should be, _could_ be done to stop it. She’d even begun to dream of these things at home now, much to the chagrin of her father, who had little patience for her walking into walls due to being distracted.

Her position in the clan was fragile as it was, supported primarily by her rare Kekkei Genkai, which she was only beginning to truly understand the full power of as she continued to experiment with it. The Mokuton was an ability her clan saw crop up only once or twice in a century, despite attempts to preserve the bloodline each time it appeared. Generally, they could not afford to hold back when it came to Kekkei Genkai, because although there were several of them in their lines, they seemed to come and go as they pleased. Other clans had much more predictable skillsets to work with.

It made the Senju flexible and masters of adapting to any situation at hand, but life was even more precarious than it already was thanks to their profession.

Another week passed without him and then another. She found her thoughts straying through the woods towards the river even when training, when battling, as she tried to sleep and then in her dreams. The thought that he had died was unacceptable and thus swiftly discarded each time it dared to pop into her mind, but the more time passed, the stronger the possibility became.

After seven weeks she’d been on the edge of giving up hope, letting her feet dangle in the ever-flowing water of the river, when Madara’s rough, boyish voice tore her from her deep thoughts of self-pity and misery.

“Are you gonna brood like this each time we meet?” he called out. She whipped around so quickly she almost felt dizzy, overwhelmed with intense euphoria at the sight of his grumpy, chubby face. She leaped up with a delighted laugh and a distinct lack of dignity which could just barely express the happiness she felt bubbling in her chest.

“Madara!” she yelled, near screeched, and jumped at him which he however swiftly dodged, looking at her with an expression wavering between disbelief and disapproval.

“Don’t get sappy with me!” he yelled. “You’re always so sentimental, sheesh.”

“I think I’m gonna cry, I thought you got killed,” she sniffed, holding on to his arm like a lifeline. He tolerated the contact, although he certainly looked like he’d like to replace the arm once she was done.

“Boys shouldn’t cry as much as you do,” he remarked quietly, glancing to the side in utter discomfort. “Get a grip.”

Oh, that little bastard, she’d show him.

“Do you act like this when you have to carry your comrades, too?” she lamented dramatically, leaning away as if deeply insulted by his harsh words.

Something in his eyes died, so swiftly, so brutally, she felt like she had truly committed murder. The atmosphere suddenly seemed to grow cold and all traces of amicability were washed away as his face fell, devoid of the happiness she had felt until now, and the change was so sudden that she could feel it rapidly die in _her_ as well.

“No,” he replied quietly, brushing past her towards the water abruptly and briskly, sinking to the ground at the shore to sit and stare wordlessly at the river as it passed.

A few minutes of silence seemed to pass uninterrupted before she had finally worked up the courage to sit down next to him. Something had happened, she was sure of it, and it was certainly nothing good. Madara didn’t say a thing as she shifted closer, only drawing a deep breath as she finally came to sit beside him.

“What’s up?” she asked softly, voice tinged with the anxiety she had accumulated over the past weeks of worry. She’d tried to look supportive, but she wasn’t sure she had succeeded; his face showed no change, no emotion as he blankly stared at the water.

A stone between her feet caught her eye. She grabbed it, weighing it in her hands, preparing to skip it across the water when Madara suddenly spoke.

“A few weeks ago my brother was severely injured. I had to carry him home.”

Oh.

Well that. That kind of explained his reaction.

Immediately the thought of her own brother getting hurt twisted her stomach; she could only imagine the pain and worry Madara must have felt at the time. For once, her habit of callously playing with the emotions of others had backfired on her, deservedly so.

“Is he alright?” she asked anxiously, unintentionally leaning closer. Her curiosity and emotions had a habit of getting the better of her. To her credit, Madara didn’t lean away, rather just gazed at her, his dark eyes slowly regaining the spark she had erased. Eventually, he glanced away and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands while his gaze slowly drifted from the water to the sky. “He’s doing better now.”

“Is that why you didn’t come?”

She didn’t want to seem selfish, but his absence had upset her to some extent. Of course, now it was obvious that there’d been a reason, but she still wanted to hear the confirmation from his mouth.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, surrounded by the atmosphere of the summer. Echoes of the forest mingled with the gentle murmur of the river at their feet, the cheerful calls of birds the only living creatures besides them.

 

oOoOoOo

 

It was hardly something Hashirama could construe as “evidence” of anything. It was no definitive proof that something bad had happened to Madara or his brother. In fact, technically it was completely meaningless to the current situation. It had happened years ago, the events weren’t connected beyond the things that bound them to their eternal rivalry.

Yet she couldn’t help but have that bad feeling, that sinking pit in her stomach as she recalled that one time she almost thought her once best friend had died. In the end it hadn’t been him who had gotten hurt but his brother, yet that hardly improved the situation – Madara without his last living sibling had likely been a wreck then, and would just as much be one now.  

Just as Madara then she now watched over her injured younger brother, who had managed to fall asleep in the meantime, sporting all the hallmarks of a man who was deep in slumber. His shallow breaths rhythmically raised and lowered his chest as he rested, hopefully recovering from the injuries he had sustained, against an enemy she wished they didn’t have, in a war that wasn’t theirs.

Tobirama. He had destroyed her friendship with Madara out of a strong sense of duty and if he hadn’t, perhaps she would be dead. And if Izuna hadn’t, perhaps Madara would be dead.

It was the depressing truth of their lives that everyone had a reason to distrust those who didn’t bear their own name, and yet all it did was lead to more of the same.

 

 

oOoOoOo


End file.
